Three Evelyn
Back at my office, the next few days were actually going surprisingly well.
After enough time had passed, my breakdown the other day started to feel less like the end of the world and more like overwhelming emotions mixed with sleep deprivation and the pressure of a first day gone wrong.
Still humiliating, obviously, but maybe not life ruining.
I tried not to think about it too much, instead focusing on work.
I finished another outline, kept myself busy, and when Michael invited me to lunch with a few others, I accepted almost immediately.
The invitation alone improved my mood more than it should’ve as it showed most people here still liked me.
And if they liked me, then maybe everything was fine.
Ms. Walton and I passed each other a few times in the hallway throughout the week.
She’d nod at me or make some brief comment, and I’d answer politely before quickly finding an excuse to end the conversation.
Still embarrassed about the other day, I spoke as little as possible, ignoring what, if I didn’t know better, would have seemed like attempts at longer conversations from her.
But now, about to be surrounded by my coworkers—who I enjoyed, for the most part—my work life was tolerable.
As we all sat around laughing together, they trusted me enough to have their usual conversations in front of me.
“Michael, how did your meeting with Vanessa go?” a man asked, exaggerating her name while wiggling his eyebrows dramatically.
Michael rolled his eyes, adding a sigh for effect before answering, “The usual: her acting like I’m a bug at her feet.”
Everyone laughed before glancing at me, suddenly realizing they were insulting their superior in front of the new employee.
Immediately understanding the hesitation, I jumped in. Partly because I wanted them to feel comfortable around me and partly because I selfishly wanted to hear more about her.
“So she’s like that with everyone?” I asked.
As intended, everyone laughed again.
“God, you already had to deal with her?” another person scoffed.
“I should’ve warned you, my bad,” Michael chuckled. “If you haven’t learned already, she doesn’t really do small talk. Or happiness.”
“Or blinking,” someone added, and we all laughed together.
Okay, good. This was good.
As the conversation naturally shifted topics, they started talking about a fundraising gala announced earlier that day that all Vector Line personnel were heavily encouraged to attend.
I must have missed the email, or maybe it’d been sent before I was added to whatever company chain they used. For a moment, I worried Vanessa had taken me off the list after yesterday, but I shoved that thought—and her—to the back of my mind.
“The gala’s honestly fun,” the woman next to Michael explained, using her hands as if describing a sports game. “The company buys a ton of fancy alcohol to impress potentially rich and stupid donors, and all we do is sip cocktails and pretend our jobs are more interesting than they are.”
I giggled at her explanation, though I couldn’t picture Ms. Walton—who would surely take it upon herself to attend—pretending to appease anyone.
“People are incredibly easy to manipulate,” Michael added casually. “Give them expensive food, fake sincerity, and attractive women pretending to care about their stories, and suddenly they want to donate millions.”
Everyone laughed again.
I did too, though my mind had already drifted elsewhere.
A fundraiser meant networking, socializing, and being around higher-ups outside the office. I loved getting to talk to people, and this was a chance to prove myself to Vanessa.
But I needed to stop caring so much about what she thought of me. She intimidated me, criticized me, and somehow managed to make me feel emotionally unstable after conversations that barely lasted two minutes.
Still, if she saw me confident and relaxed around everyone else, maybe she’d stop associating me with crying in her office on my first day.
The lunch had been a sweet escape from my desk, but immediately after, I had a briefing from no one other than Vanessa Walton. There would be fifty other people there, and I fully intended to sit tall, showing her I was over the other day and could handle this.
When I walked into the room, I took a seat next to Michael. He shot me an amused glance, then flicked his eyes toward Ms. Walton. I followed his gaze, watching her tap her papers into place before scanning the room. Her eyes found mine, and I quickly forced myself to look away.
Today her long hair was down, cascading past her shoulders, and she wore a faint pink blouse with gold jewelry and a white pencil skirt.
She was gorgeous—and to my dismay, it was obvious that as much as everyone resented her, they still seemed to admire her appearance.
If she weren’t such a bitch, everyone who worked here would have a crush on her; so in a way, her harshness worked to her advantage.
She led the briefing with such eloquence it was enthralling to watch, commanding the room like an orchestra. Her passion was obvious, and it clearly earned her the respect of her employees, no matter how much they criticized her rude demeanor.
Since this was my first management exchange, I was terrified of making a fool of myself, so I kept my head down, typing notes on my computer and staying out of the discussion. And since I wasn’t the only one who seemed better off staying quiet, my silence didn’t feel like a problem.
After a while, Vanessa adjourned the meeting, and people began to leave. With Ms. Walton dedicated to maintaining her constant control, we had covered a wide array of topics—and quite thoroughly too.
I was about to leave when I felt someone’s gaze on me. Please no, I begged to no one in particular, not being able to handle another one-on-one conversation after our last interaction.
“Sorrell, a word, please,” the refined voice I dreaded called out.
I took a deep breath before plastering on a smile and heading toward her.
Her legs were delicately crossed, and her hands lay on top of them, neatly folded together, her expression inscrutable.
Without saying a word, she turned her head, glancing at the door.
Her wavy locks shifted across her face in the process, as she waited for the last few people to leave.
Once we were alone to her liking, she cleared her throat lightly to command my attention.
My heart raced and adrenaline pumped. Yet the way the edge in Ms. Walton’s expression seemed to fade after everyone left was just enough to keep me from running while I still could.
“The other day, I came off more jarring than intended. It was your first day, and I should have taken that into consideration and been more cordial.”
If this could be considered an apology, it sounded sincere—even though it didn’t contain a trace of regret or shame. She had a way with words. It sounded more like pity than remorse, but still, those soothing words made me feel a bit warmer inside.
Still, I frowned slightly, hesitating—not expecting or prepared for that in the slightest.
“I can see it’s still troubling you,” she added as I stayed quiet, as if more context would further appease me.
Her half-hearted apology did. But, unless it was merely a lucky guess on her part, I wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that she’d picked up on my feelings and then chosen to address them with me in such a straightforward manner.
“It’s okay, I’m fine,” I said, my voice generic. There was nothing I could—or wanted to—say in return.
“Really? Because my intuition is telling me otherwise. I know I hurt you.”
Her stating my emotions like they were public record made me feel vulnerable, though I couldn’t deny a part of me liked being recognized.
There was something strangely refreshing about being exposed. I couldn’t hide, and that felt freeing. Anyone else would have dropped the conversation after my reply, but the fact that she didn’t made me feel cared for.
But that same part of me that craved being defenseless didn’t want to give in easily. It wanted to be pulled out.
When someone else was in control and I was powerless, it brought a sense of calm, like I didn’t have to fight my own desires.
I wanted her to pay attention to my feelings, and that was the problem. I was too easily affected by my longing for this particular woman to fill wounds and satisfy desires I couldn’t suppress.
No other women had ever realized the power they held over me, and I’d worked hard to keep it that way.
Yet somehow, Vanessa Walton had figured me out after only two days of knowing me, and maybe that was a good thing.
Either way, no matter what I said or did, I was an open book to her. She could probably read every thought that had just raced through my mind. And even now, I had this intangible feeling that the woman in front of me wouldn’t take advantage of it.
“Yes, my boss’s boss making me feel like a disappointment on my first day felt awful,” I admitted calmly. “But is that really a surprise to you?”
It felt unexpectedly good to say it out loud, especially when Ms. Walton seemed to want a real answer. She sighed and nodded as I spoke, her green eyes never leaving my blue ones as she tilted her head. She was listening.
“I appreciate your honesty, and I apologize for the unnecessary distress I added to your work life. I will refrain from doing so in the future.”
I nodded, not wanting to reveal how much her apology meant to me, no matter how formal or calculated it appeared.
“Thank you for that,” I added after a few seconds, realizing she was waiting for me to speak.
“If you have nothing else you seek to express or share with me, you’re free to go.”
Now flustered all over again, I averted my eyes. With this woman’s psychic abilities, I needed to watch my thoughts around her and stop interpreting things so suggestively.
She raised an eyebrow, polite enough to fake confusion while I stood there like an idiot.
If she could tell when I was mad at her, she could definitely tell I was into her.
She’d probably spent this whole interaction amused by how often I looked down at her soft, inviting lips, or lost my train of thought every time she moved them.
She probably enjoyed holding this power over me as my boss—not in the scandalous ways I’d dreamed of.
“That’s all. Have a good day,” I said, rushing out of the room, deciding I’d ask someone else whether I was invited to the gala another time.
I looked back one last time, finding her astonishing emerald eyes back on some paper, though a light smirk played on her lips.